Stuck.

I haven't posted in a week.

It's not because it's summer; I have plenty of stories saved up and thoughts ready to discuss.

It's because...well, it's because of my anonymity.

I know. That sounds weird. I guess it's not actually because of my anonymity; it's because I'm tired of it.

Here's the thing. I blog because I love to tell stories, but also because I care about education and its future and how that relates to my students. I care a lot. Like....a LOT. And I want to be part of the national dialogue on all of those things, and share my ideas, and talk to other people about theirs. And.....I don't feel like I can if I'm hiding behind a pseudonym. You know?

But I also don't know if I can write about the stuff that I write about if I'm more public. Or maybe it's not can, but should. Because even though all these things happened to me, they also happened to kids who were anywhere from 11 to 14 years old at the time....and I don't know that it's fair to have this stuff out there about them, even without their names attached.

I don't know if my district has guidelines about these things, but even if they don't, I still need to consider it. That's the responsible thing to do. The adult thing. And if I want to be part of the national dialogue, I damn well better be responsible and adult.

So I don't know where to go from here. Because I want to be more openly public, but I don't want to compromise anything for my students' future.

Do I go back through and delete a bunch of entries? Start over? Just keep blogging anonymously?

I just don't know.

Any thoughts?

(Image credit to Horia Varlan)

Goodbye.

My sister emailed me today to check in. She said, "is today your last day of students?? excited/sad?"

And it was my last day. So I replied, "Honestly.....heartbroken. Like, not really, but oh I am so so so sad. I have cried 7 times today - in the awards assembly, once in each class, after school as I watched two of my very favorite students walk away, on my way home, and after I got home. Some of these kids are kids that I've had since my very first day as a teacher EVER....I can't imagine my school without them. Like, really can't imagine it. And I'll be totally good by the end of my first week (well, mostly good - totally good by the end of the first month), but right now.....I'm so sad. They're SO awesome. The notes I got, the awards, the hugs, the everything.....they're amazing kids and I will never ever forget them. Okay, make that 8 times I've cried today."

I'm at 9 times now.

I'll post more about the last few days later, but now I need to go to bed - I still have to clean my classroom tomorrow.

God, I'm going to miss them so damn much.

(Image credit to anirbanbiswas_c8)

How long can you try?

Still struggling with the loss of trust over here. Some of the behaviors have changed (which is actually pretty awesome, since those have been problems for a loooooooong time) but it's still discouraging; I asked the student involved for one more thing to demonstrate that new leaf, and that has not yet come. Which makes me sad, because I don't think I can back down on this one.

And then I read a post by my friend TeachEnEspanol that was awfully similar to my situation (go read!), and the comment I left her applies equally well to me. She said:

I guess the truth is that they've made their bed. Why then, do I have such a hard time letting them lie in it?

And my response, which I need to remember for myself as I'm having that hard time:

It's hard because it takes a long time to break a habit that was formed over a long time....and you want them to break that bad habit. And you want them to get that feeling of success that elissa mentioned, and you want them to have the triumphant end to the year that everyone else has had.

Because you're a good teacher and you care and even when you know someone has made the wrong choice, you still want to believe that they CAN make the right one.

Because you see though the missing work or supplies or appropriate attitude to the kid underneath who can make you laugh or has great insights into the reading or is kind to the bullied kids or takes on too much responsibility at home.

I'm not saying you should keep giving chances because that's not the best thing for the kid either (I'm in the middle of that myself......sigh), but that's why it's hard. At least, that's why it's hard for me. :/

That's why it's hard. That's why I have such a difficult time letting go. That's why I can't give up, even when my husband and my colleagues think I'm being too soft.

The picture I chose today is kind of a cheesy metaphor, I know that, but still. I believe that light is there, and if we can just keep going, just a little further, we'll reach it. Because how sad would it be to quit when (I think) we're so close?

(Image credit to extranoise)

Liar liar

Do you guys read Road Diaries? It's Anthony Mullen's blog; he's the Teacher of the Year, and he's a DAMN good writer. His post today is about breaking points - "the moment when remaining calm and appearing sane becomes harder to grasp than hugging smoke." It's an interesting story, and one I'd recommend you read, but I'm not posting about that overall. I'm writing about one line. Mullens was talking to someone about the situation in which they found themselves, and his conversational partner said, "People can take a lot of tings [sic], but not the lies. Not the lies."

And I was going to write about that (though not from Mullens' perspective so go read his too), just sort of a general thing because I try really, really, really hard not to lie to students; I don't like lying and I don't like to do it and I feel bad about myself when I do and so I just generally don't do it. It's awkward sometimes, because they'll ask me about things that I really CAN'T talk about from a confidentiality perspective, so then I have to find ways to answer without actually lying, but usually that works out in the long run.

So that's what I was going to write about.

And then I read about Constance McMillan, and the end to her prom saga.

Have you followed this? Constance, a senior in Mississippi, is gay. She wanted to go to her prom with her girlfriend. The school board said no. Constance and the ACLU sued. The school board lost and so they canceled the prom entirely rather than let her go. But then a private one was being put on! Constance was to go to that! A victory for reasonable, accepting, open people everywhere!

Except.

Oh, except.

The new prom was fake. Seven students, including Constance, went. SEVEN. Everyone else went to the REAL private prom that night, at a location kept secret from Constance.

And my heart broke.

Because why would you do that? Why would you treat another human being that way? I just....I don't get it. She's a person. SHE'S A PERSON. A human being like all the rest of us. That's all you should have to say.

And what makes it even worse is that it seems some teachers and the principal may have been in on it, since they chaperoned the fake secret prom.

In my classes recently we've been discussing what it means to be an American, particularly in regards to race, gender, social class, and citizenship status. I wanted to include sexual orientation as well but I got shot down on that because it might be too controversial. And I deferred. And now I'm so angry that I did. Because if we don't talk about this kind of stuff, then nothing changes. And this bullshit keeps happening. And we're lying to ourselves about our society and our futures and our humanity.

See, the thing is, lying isn't just about saying something untrue. It's about not saying the truth when you know what it is. It's about hearing the word gay sneered at someone and not calling the user out. It's about letting a friend refer to a decision as retarded without correcting their language. It's about ignoring the dozenshundredsthousandsmillions of petty cruelties that we perpetrate on each other every single day.

Land of the free. Home of the brave. We should be brave enough to stand up for those who aren't allowed to be free to be themselves.

Anything else is a lie.

I hope that I can someday be as brave and honest as Constance McMillan. I try every day but I'm not there yet. But I'm going to keep trying. That's my truth. That's what I have to do, because I can take a lot of things, but I can't take the lies.

Livin' on a prayer (and a contract)

Another self-harm contract.

This is something we do at our school, when a kid seems to be potentially in danger of hurting themself; after the risk assessment, one of the next steps is for the student to fill out a contract about who they're going to talk to at school and at home, two people at each if possible, if they're feeling like they might do something really scary.

This is the third time I've been listed as one of the contacts. Once last year, once earlier this year, and today. It's kinda intimidating.

I just have to remember that kids are trusting me when they tell me the things they do, when they list me, that they're telling me because they know I care and I won't just ignore it or walk away or pretend that what's happening is okay. It's a gift, for a student to share their deepest secrets, shame, pain with me, and even if it's a burden, it really truly is the thought that counts.

But I fucking hate worrying that they're going to come to me with this particular crisis.

Too young.

One of my friends is going to a funeral tomorrow for one of his former students. We've only been teaching for three years....this kid had barely graduated from high school.

One of my students recently learned that a friend of his had been hit by a car. The car stopped, and the occupants jumped out and beat my student's friend to death with a baseball bat. Then they drove off.

Fuck.

(Image credit to L. Marie)

THAT kind of day.

I started drinking whiskey at around 4:30 today.

Yep, THAT kind of day.

Honestly, most of it was really good. Got observed yesterday and in the post-ob recap, my principal had nothing but good to say. Everything in class went well - kids were engaged, working hard, productive. I talked several kids into trying honors classes in high school (I feel that if they're willing to try, they should get the opportunity), and talked two others out of taking a remedial class (which they don't need, they just thought it sounded easy).

And then. Oh, and then.

Two of my favorite kids lied. Flat out. To my face. They swore to me that they were telling the truth - swore on our relationship (and I have a GOOD relationship with both of these boys - Motormouth is one of them). And it was all a lie. From one, to avoid getting in trouble. From the other, to avoid ratting out a friend.

I went to the AP investigating the situation to say that I believed them. That I trusted them. To ask her to investigate further. And she did...and then they finally 'fessed up.

I cried when I heard. I feel betrayed, though I know it's not really about me. But about the broken trust. And about the fact that these two would have been involved in this situation (which I won't get into, but suffice to say, court dates will be assigned). And...well, and I feel stupid. Naive. Shouldn't have trusted. Shouldn't have believed.

It makes me not want to get involved. Not track down kids who are failing. Not push them to succeed. Not open my room before and after school and at lunch for a safe space, for extra help, for conversation. Not care.

I believe that they are better than this. But I don't know how to help them if they don't believe it themselves.

(Image credit to tanakawho)

Support our schools and our students.

Bill Ferriter of The Tempered Radical has a great post up about how the public thinks they know just what to do to fix this giant sloppy mess that is education....but how they really have no idea. Bill focuses on specifically the idea that a level playing field at the school level (funding, supplies, teachers) is all that any kid needs to learn.

Boy, wouldn't that be great? Wouldn't that be freakin' AWESOME?

Because that would mean that home environments and external concerns don't affect student learning, and it would be so nice to believe that. I'd love to think that these kinds of stories don't impact what happens inside the school.

I could stop worrying so much then, stop feeling so much responsibility, just teach 'em about reading'n'writing and not have conversations about how crappy it is that their favorite cousin just got shot in the face, or that their brother got arrested last night, or that their sister is pregnant and has run away from home (all of these have happened in the last month. Not exaggerating even slightly).

Because those things wouldn't affect their learning - they could just ignore them and focus on how sometimes off is an adverb and sometimes it's a preposition and it just depends on how it's being used. And then we could all laugh about how wacky the English language is and skip lightly off to lunch, chatting and singing songs about how wonderful life is. Tra la! Tra lay!

As is. Not so much.

I left a comment on Bill's site about how it's not just the general public who judges kids in poverty and doesn't want them around their precious little darlings - teachers do it too. Sometimes it's teachers from other schools, sometimes from my own. I know a teacher who is very vocal about how she wouldn't send her son to our school because of the bad influences and how academically low our kids are. I think if she wouldn't send her son, she shouldn't come herself.

A student asked me a few days ago why the kids from other schools don't like us. This big tough eighth grade boy, someone who looks a little scary, who might make people cross the street if he was walking toward them late at night, genuinely wondered and was genuinely hurt by it. His voice cracked as he asked me.

Whenever you hear someone speaking disparagingly of students like mine, or questioning why the teachers in high-poverty schools struggle to raise scores as high as those in middle- and upper-middle class schools, please remind them a lot of factors influence education, and that we do the best we can to make things better for our kids. It's not about making excuses for them - God knows I don't want to do that. Education is their only way out, their only chance to escape the generational poverty that so many of them are born into. And so I'm hard on them, I push them, I love them. But I need a little understanding from the public that what I'm doing is worth it, that these kids are worth it, and that they can do everything that anyone else can do but it might take them a little longer and a little extra support to get there.

(Image credit to Travelin' John)

Sure isn't.

"Well, it's never dull." Thus spake Ricochet at the end of a post detailing some class/student turmoil. I read it and thought wistfully, Boy, but wouldn't it be nice if it was? Just for a few days? Just once in a while?

Today I:

made a social services call (first of this year but certainly not the last);

tried to convince some of my colleagues that a new student probably deserves a chance and some assistance to help him fit into our school before we simply throw up our hands, declare he's hopeless, and look to expelling him (yep, he's acting like a little shit, but he's clearly a troubled kid who needs some help, and we can't just throw kids away - we're not a charter school, after all);

learned that the Charmer has moved schools again, though he apparently tried to call me yesterday before he did (I got the contact info for his grandparents, his new guardians, and am working on getting in touch with them);

talked to a student about why it's not his fault that another student got beaten up (which it really truly isn't, but he sure doesn't believe that yet);

talked to another student about why social services came to talk to her (because of a really, really, really horrible thing that happened to her little sister;

persuaded a student with broken ribs to go to the doctor (yay football injuries!);

harangued four kids into staying after school and getting enough work done to move from high Fs to very low Cs (ah, the beauty of completing assessments that you'd started and just hadn't taken to publication...it's like magic!);

and.....huh. Guess that's it for the day. Oh, and did some teaching and grading and stuff.

Never, ever, EVER dull.

(Photo credit to Kapungo) (Okay, can't get it to upload. Will try again later. But theoretically credit is to Kapungo!)

The most ridiculously stressful day EVER. (Knock on wood.)

In addition to all the drama around this potential schedule change, I had two other incredibly disturbing things happen yesterday.

First thing in the morning I had this horribly awkward meeting. I don't feel I can go into what it was about specifically, but basically I had to sit there and explain to someone how they weren't doing their job, and list off all the reasons why, and let them defend themself, and then go over the evidence supporting my position AGAIN. Sososososo awkward. So that was a kickin' way to start the day.

But worse was what happened before third hour. I was doing hall duty when GLA (my grade-level administrator) walked up. "Do you remember the Charmer?" she asked.

Um, obviously I remember him. I looked at her. "Yeah....."

"Well, his new school called. He's missing. He didn't go home last night."

"WHAT???"

"They want to know if any of our kids might know anything, and I thought since kids will talk to you, maybe you can ask around ---" Before she was even finished talking, I'd grabbed the Charmer's two best friends who both happened to be walking by.

One, the Chowhound, already knew; the Charmer's brother had called him the night before when trying to find his missing sibling. But the Chowhound had no idea where the Charmer was. I pulled the kids into the library to talk to them while our teacher-librarian covered the start of my next class. The Charmer's other best friend, Motormouth, had the Charmer's new cell number, so he tried calling it to see if the Charmer would answer. Phone was disconnected. Great.

I asked question after question. Where would he go? Who else might know? Who might he call for help? Who might have seen him recently? We brainstormed names, places, possibilities. The kids texted, called, shared ideas. They were scared - really scared. I emphasized that we didn't know that anything was actually wrong, but that we needed to do everything we could to try to help. More names, more calls.

His counselor called me. I'd called her in September, just to check in on him. She'd left a message back that he was doing fine. Then three weeks ago, she'd called me, but though I called back several times and emailed, I never heard from her. At least she called in the crisis. I shared some info that the kids had told me.

An hour and a half later, they found him. Or I guess he found himself - he went home. Claimed he'd fallen asleep at a friend's house, hadn't woken up till 10:30, didn't know people were worried. Honestly, I don't buy that that's the whole story, but whatever. He's okay.

I'm hoping to get to talk to him at some point. When his counselor called, she said she'd told him that I'd like to talk to him. He was surprised, apparently. She asked if he wanted to talk to me. He said yeah, he guessed so. From him, that's pretty much a hell yes, so hopefully we can make that happen.

Oh, it was a fun twenty-four hours.

(Photo credit to Greg Westfall.)

Seeing.

I made a kid cry today. Kind of out of nowhere, honestly.

It started in the cafeteria. He and another student were wrestling over a container of bubbles, and he bit the other kid. I've pretty much had it with biting (I can't believe I'm saying that, but it's true - we've had a minor biting epidemic. Yes, middle school. No, not three year olds. It's very weird) so I sent the two to the office to be dealt with up there.

Later I stopped in the office to ask about a separate issue, and ran into the administrator who'd dealt with it. Except that they'd both denied any biting, and she'd sent them back to class. When I pointed out that I'd seen the bite marks and could verify, she called them back up.

The first to arrive was Shortstop. He began by again denying the biting, to which I pointed out that I'd SEEN the bite marks and he'd SAID he'd bitten the other kid. He AGAIN denied it, at which point my administrator got annoyed and asked if he was calling me a liar. After a bit, he finally admitted to biting but said he hadn't meant to. And then my administrator got even more annoyed and pointed out that it didn't matter if he'd meant to or not, he'd been lying when he said he hadn't bitten anyone, and that they were going to be calling mom, and he was in trouble now. And that's when he welled up.

This is the Antagonizer's best friend, and he's a pretty tough kid. He and I don't always get along (I find his attitude annoying - he complains about accommodations that kids in special ed get and would rather do just about anything than do his work), but I didn't want him to think I was out to get him. Because honestly, that's how it would've come across to me if I was in his shoes. So I asked if I could talk to him for a minute.

I told him that I wasn't out to get him. He shrugged. That I know he thinks I don't like him - he nodded - but it's not true. That I think he's a smart kid and I wish he'd focus more in class, that I think he could do better than he does, that he could try harder, that he has a lot of potential. He shrugged. I said I was sure he'd heard all that before, and he shook his head.

He hadn't heard that he's a smart kid? That he has potential?

No to both.

Never?

No.

I couldn't believe it. What kid hasn't been told that at some point? I mean, seriously, does that happen?* And maybe he was lying again...but I don't really think so, because this is when the tears were slipping out more and more.

I talked some more about how he can do better if he tries (though he does okay), how I'll help him, how I hope he'll get over being mad at me but he doesn't have to, and he nodded. I asked if his mom had told him when I'd called home earlier in the year (one of my positive parent calls). Nodded. Did he like that I'd done that? Nodded. Would he like me do it again? Nodded. Okay, then, give me a reason. Show me I should call. Nodded.

Shortstop's not my favorite kid. His attitude frustrates me. But I left the whole thing feeling....well, just really bad for this kid. Probably the tears were because he didn't want to get in trouble, and he shouldn't've done what he did, but...to never have been told that you're smart. To never have been told that you have potential. That's.....that's terrible.

I'm going to focus on being nicer to this kid. On helping him do better in my class. On seeing him. Because I'm not sure any of us at my school really do right now.

(Photo credit to Mike "Dakinewavamon" Kline)

I worry.

We've officially done with summer here....those late season 70 degree highs have blown away with the leaves, leaving behind only bare branches and scarf weather.

I like this kind of weather - when white wine segues to red, when flannel sheets float out and settle over the bed, when cheeks blush from the pinch of the early morning chill. I like the change in seasons, every season....but this particular change is always bittersweet.

This is the season when I start to worry about my kids even more than usual. They huddle together outside in the mornings, some still clad in shorts and t-shirts, maybe a threadbare sweatshirt draped across hunched shoulders. When they come inside, they spend their first few minutes flexing and unflexing stiffened fingers, trying to jump-start their slowed circulation.

I worry about those that don't have beds, that have to sleep huddled in a corner of the couch or tucked into a chair.

I worry about those that never get to eat much and what their nutritional intake will be as produce prices climb and availability dips.

I worry about families that can't afford to turn the heat on yet, not yet, not yet, pushing it back and back and back because they don't know how they'll pay for it when they start using it.

I worry about students trudging between home and school in the dark, too tired to look carefully as they cross the street, cars sometimes only inches away.

I still enjoy the change in season. But I worry.

(Photo credit to jam343)

Feeling down.

This week was hard.

I say that every week this year, I think. But every week it's true. And maybe that's a post for another time...but right now, I'm just feeling like this week was particularly tough.

Wednesday, a student had an asthma attack at lunch. She was having trouble breathing but wasn't in terrible shape so I sent her up to the nurse with a few of her friends. A few minutes later, one of them came running back out. "Ms. Teachin', she stopped breathing! She almost fell down the stairs but we caught her!" I sent another kid to run and tell an administrator as I raced inside; I got to her just as our school health aide did. She was okay after a while, but BOY was that scary.

Thursday, two boys almost got in a fight outside my classroom. I saw them just before it started and could tell - the body language, the tension, the expressions on faces - so I started yelling at everyone around to get to class as I moved toward them. And I was YELLING. Then the pushing started, and I yelled even louder, enough that I scared the crap out of a good number of kids and I had two teachers come to check on me later to make sure I was okay. (I was fine - my basic philosophy in a fight is that I'm not getting in the middle of it, but if I can scream loud enough that they're more scared of what I'm going to do to them than they are interested in watching the fight, then they'll move away and at least not encourage any more violence. It works out okay, mostly.)

This after the incident at parent/teacher conferences last week, plus two of my favorite kids had an altercation and I'm going to lose one of them no matter what (one is probably going to transfer schools; if she doesn't, the other one will be moved off my core), plus another kid I adored withdrew because of a fight from last year, plus the Charmer's counselor called me on Thursday and I have no idea why (I called her a month or so ago just to touch base and make sure he doesn't fall through the cracks - I've done it for DC and the Eyeliner Queen as well - at the time he was apparently doing well) but probably because he's getting in serious trouble of some sort.......

I went to bed at 8:30 last night and didn't get up till 9:30 this morning. Tonight I'm going to see Zombieland and I'm going to forget about everything school-related.

Because gah.

(Photo credit to whatmegsaid)

Black eye.

Not literally (well, I hope not - I did actually somehow manage to smack myself hard in the right eye. A refrigerating closing incident that I still don't understand. I can see out of it again, now that half an hour has passed, and it's only moderately swollen, so hopefully tomorrow it'll be normal). But I'm not having my best day ever.

Perhaps yesterday's hubris (doing well, I said. Hah!) caused today's ruckus, but LORD my 8th period drove me crazy. I didn't yell, but I was pissed, and all lecture-y, and they knew it. Which isn't really any better, though I suppose it's at least easier on the eardrums.

The class changed dramatically today (seven new kids, pulled mostly from other periods but one new totally) to try to better provide services for some kids who need them. And the new dynamics are not ideal. I'll have a new seating chart tomorrow, and fingers crossed that will help, but right now bleah.

Plus I am totally losing with the Charmer. I wrote him a letter after the last incident and dropped it off at his house, but no one was home so I had no way to know if he'd gotten it. I have two of his best friends this year, though, and one, Motormouth, said he'd give the Charmer another copy.

This morning, Motormouth gave the letter back. "He said to tell you he doesn't want it."

I looked at him. "Did he read it?"

"Yeah, he read it, but then he said he doesn't want it."

Sweet. So I took the letter back, because what else was there to do?

The only upside is that I'd included a business card with my contact information, including my cell (he'd had that already, from last year, but I figured it couldn't hurt to throw it in again), and that he kept. I don't think he'll use it ever, he's just not that kind of kid, but at least he has the means with which to do so.

But clearly he just wants me to leave him alone and I don't see that I have any other choice.

So between my two failures of the day, I'm feeling a little down. I'm going to go take my dogs for a walk. Hopefully that will help.

(Photo credit to heyjoewhereyougoingwiththatguninyourhand)

Left behind.

One of my kids broke my heart a little today.

He ditched my class. Which I knew, because I'd seen him in the hall earlier that day. So come lunch, I sought him out. Asked him where he'd been. "The office...no. Uh...lemme think." We went to admin.

I talked him into coming to my room after school so I could help him with his homework (he was one of my seven - the only one who had nothing today either). Saw him in the hallway later and reminded him. Gave his last period teacher a heads up.

He showed. He sat down and got to work. I was looking up ESL information and wasn't paying much attention. I could see he was working hard, hunched over the paper, pen in hand. After 15 minutes or so, I went to check on him.

He'd written two sentences.

One said that he didn't like writing because it was too hard for him.

I scribed the rest for him, prodding him with questions and sentence starters to get anywhere. He doesn't like my school because the kids are mean. His favorite teacher is his science teacher from last year because she doesn't yell that much. He doesn't know if he's smart. He wouldn't tell me at first if his family speaks English or Spanish at home; after I explained that it was just so I knew, not to get him in trouble or anything, he thought for over a minute and then said English.

I saw his favorite teacher after he left. Told her what he said. She was stunned - never would have thought it. Maybe she was just the first one he could think of; he still said it.

This child is not just left behind - he's choking in the dust.

One step forward, seventeen steps back.

So right now I am…..I don’t know what I am right now. Hurt? Bewildered? Angry? Insulted? All? More? I don’t know.

I was supposed to meet with the Charmer today for our second official mentoring meeting. We’d had something scheduled for last week but he canceled because he was out of town. And that was the way he put it – when I was confirming with him and he said he couldn’t do it, he said, “Only because I’m not home this week.” So we rescheduled for this week.

When I got to his apartment, he, his mom, his sister and a friend of his were all in the living room. I said hi to them, and he said hi, then got up and walked out. And that was the last I saw him. He refused to come meet with me. He refused to even speak to me. His mom went to talk to him twice; the second time she came back and said he was literally bawling in his room but that he still wouldn’t come out.

His mom said that he kept saying that I’m a teacher and I tell other teachers stuff, and that it just seemed like he really didn’t trust me. She said she’d thought this would be good because he was getting in trouble but that he was upset about this at a level that she didn’t understand. She said she’d have to talk to him more about this because she didn’t know what was going on. She said he was worried I was going to hate him. She said she’d have him call me to talk to me at some point.

I have no idea what happened.

Last time he and I talked, he seemed to enjoy the conversation. I was the one who finally said I had to go, and maybe I’d overstayed my welcome and he hadn’t known how to tell me, but he seemed surprised that I was leaving. We’d talked about a whole bunch of things, from how he needs to watch what he says to the war in Iraq, and I thought it was fine. Good, even.

Today, sobbing in his room, refusing to speak to me. What?

When I got home, I called his mom to give her some more information that I’d thought of as I drove – the mandated reporter stuff. Because to me, wailing that I’m a teacher and I tell other teachers stuff seems like it might connect to that. And that maybe there’s something going on with him that’s dangerous enough that I’d have to report it.

His mom said she hadn’t thought of that, and that he spends a lot of time with girls so maybe there’s something sexual with him; I said that was a possibility, but that I was more concerned that he might be getting involved in some sort of violence. I didn’t explicitly use the word “gang” but that’s what I tried to imply. Hoping mom could infer what I meant.

Because….it worries me. It worries me with a lot of my kids. And I was hoping that the Charmer was smart enough to avoid it, but maybe he’s not. The friend he was hanging out with in his living room? Had lines shaved in his eyebrows. That’s a gang identifier; around my school, it’s normally for MS-13 and they shave one line in one and three in the other. I only saw one stripe in each but he left pretty quickly and I didn’t get a good look at the right side.

His mom said she’d talk to him more and she appreciated the additional information. I said I would appreciate a phone call from him at some point. She said of course.

I doubt it’ll ever happen.

I doubt I’ll ever see him again.

Maybe that’s for the best.

(This dog's face nicely expresses how I feel right now. Photo credit to C.C.Photo86.)

Why I Don't Have Subs Supervise Group Work (Or, Bleaaaaaaaaaaaaah)

I was talking today to a sub I met; she’s recently started working in my district so I got her information. We were discussing what teachers want out of subs. I said I’m looking for two things at a minimum, ideally three. The two minimum are to follow the plans I leave and let me know what happens over the day, including specific names. The extra-credit third is to keep some sort of control over the classroom.

With most of my classes this year, all three were doable (or should have been – one sub decided not to tell me that a kid had told another student to fuck off, because he felt he’d dealt with it at the time. The kid involved was ED and had another student not reported it to me, who knows what would have happened long term – not your call to make, Mr. Substitute, and that’s why you were not invited back to my classroom). But one of my classes was a challenge. Eighth period.

Now, I adored my eighth hour. It was full of funny, smart kids and we all got along really well. However, of the 29 kids in that class, ten were…challenging. Of the fifteen most challenging kids on our core this year (based on referrals and the numbers of times we discussed them at core meetings [ad nauseum, by the way]), ten were in my eighth hour.

I got along well with all of them (including my pals the Slacker and the Goofball), and when I was there, we were good. Got our work done, had a good time doing it, didn’t make really stupid choices….it was just what class should be. But when I was gone…oh, when I was gone. They fell apart.

Every damn time, they fell apart.

I tried everything I could think of – bribery (free time when I get back! Candy!), threats (detentions, referrals, personal meetings with admin), parental conferences in advance (kids called home and told parents they would have a sub and needed to be good), extra supervision (pop in visits from the teacher next door, admin, and our student achievement coach), safe places (I gave the subs lists of kids who could take breaks if they needed to so they didn’t fly off the handle)…nothing worked. At least not for everyone. We finally got to a point where most of them could handle their shit relatively well, and I had to be relatively content with that, because I couldn’t come up with any other solutions.

The second-to-last time I had a sub this year was in…late February, maybe? I had a training for something and so I needed coverage. Normally I try to leave a sub relatively easy work – individual work, some sort of review, student-directed, nothing assessment related – but this day I HAD to have them working in groups so that I could get to where I needed to be by spring break. With great trepidation, I gave them an uplifting speech on behaving well and how I knew they could do it and I was so looking forward to that good report…you know, lying through my teeth.

When I came back, I grabbed the sub report and started reading before I even took my coat off. Every class had a good report (period six had been a little shaky at first, apparently, but had gotten it back together), and some had great reports (period two was called “delightful”….except period eight. The sub wrote that too many kids had been a problem to name names, that they’d been off task, that they hadn’t gotten their work done, that they’d argued and screwed around and basically sucked hard. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

So at lunch, I hauled the whole class into my room, after having checked with a few trustworthy kiddos to ensure that the sub report was accurate (they verified the behavior problems). I read them the sub report, including the praise for the other classes, and then, with a steely glare, I read them their section.

After I finished, I did the whole I’m-so-disappointed-I-thought-we-were-past-this-you-guys-are-so-great-for-me-I-can’t-understand-why-you-don’t-want-other-people-to-see-how-rockstar-you-can-be spiel. Then I asked anyone who felt they’d made bad decisions yesterday to come to the front of the room. About eight of my charmers shuffled forward. I then had the kids who were still seated to show me their work from the day before. About half had finished it; they went back to lunch. Most of the rest were almost done; they finished and left.

Anyone who was nowhere near done joined the front of the room bunch. That group got another lecture on making good choices and how they owed their classmates an apology for having wasted so much time the day before that they’d then lost part of lunch. They shuffled back to their seats and got to work. I stood at the front and gave ninja death stares to any kid who seemed unfocused. Finally one kid, Mr. Sincerity, came over to me. “Can I talk to you in the hall?” he asked. We went outside. “I don’t think it’s fair that I’m here when I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I couldn’t get my work done because of the Goofball and the Fidgeter. They kept punching me.”

This kid is known for lying like a politician angling for votes, and he sells it every time, so I didn’t believe him for a second. Clearly he just wanted to get out of the consequences. “Then why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“Because I was afraid they’d hurt me more if I told.”

I told him I didn’t believe him and sent him back in to the room. Then I grabbed Ms. Reading and went to the cafeteria to find out if his story was true. I asked my most trust-worthy group of kids if anything had happened in class that I didn’t know about. They shook their heads. I pressed the issue – anything with those three boys? Nope, nothing. About to walk away, I decided to ask one more time. Anything involving punching? Ohhhhhhh, yeah! The Goofball and the Fidgeter kept hitting Mr. Sincerity! Aghast, I asked why they hadn’t mentioned that before. The girls shrugged – they hadn’t thought about it? And it seemed like they were just messing around?

When I got back to my room, I called the office and said I needed an administrator ASAP because frankly, I had no idea what else to do. My favorite AP (I mean this. She is awesome and I love working with her) came down to deal with it. After I filled her in, she sent Mr. Sincerity to the office to make a statement and we sat down to chat with the other two.

Now, I adore these boys. They are troublemakers, absolutely, but they work their butts off for me and they make me laugh, and by the end of the day, I can usually use a laugh. So I was heartbroken that they would do this. When Ms. Rockstar AP asked them what happened, neither said anything at first. So I pressed them on it, at which point the Fidgeter started to cry as he told us what had happened.

He said that Mr. Sincerity had been calling them fags and making racial slurs [both punchers are Latino and Mr. Sincerity is White] and comments about their mothers. So they got tired of it, and they started hitting him. They were careful to do it only when the teacher wasn’t looking, but that was why.

Now, maybe I’m naïve (probably I am, honestly) but I believed him. The tears…this kid might lie, but he wouldn’t cry about it. This was something that was hurting him immensely. And I told Ms. Rockstar AP as much when she came back to me after she’d concluded the investigation, found no evidence to fault Mr. Sincerity, and suspended the Fidgeter and the Goofball. She didn’t disagree, but, as she put it, no one had heard Mr. Sincerity say anything, but seven or eight kids had witnessed the physical violence. She had no grounds on which to take any other action.

I’ll never leave group work again for a sub. And I’ll never forget the Fidgeter’s face as he broke down in tears, so crushed by the words that had been hissed at him in class.

(I wish this situation had had any humor in it. At least the photo does: by aaardvaark)

On Being a White Teacher in a Mostly Non-White School

Jose Vilson wrote a post a couple of days ago about why so few Black men are teachers. I was going to comment on the post, but it ended up getting long, so I’m going with my own post instead.

This was in some ways a hard post for me to read. Please understand that I don't disagree with Jose's premise or with the vast majority of his points. It was difficult for me because of who I am and who my students are, and because it made me consider if there's more of a disconnect between those two than I'd previously realized.

I'm a White female teacher in a school that is 65% Latino and 30% White with a handful of Black or Asian students scattered throughout. And I so agree with you that kids need to see themselves reflected in their teachers; we have one teacher who is not White. One.

The thing is, I love where I teach. I love my kids and I love working with them - I became a teacher in large part because I believe in social justice, and that doesn't much exist in our society. So I don't want to move to an all-White (or mostly White) school, even though I am White. I want to stay where I am, but I feel guilty sometimes that I don't reflect my kids' experiences, that I don’t come where they come from (I'm also very middle class, something my 80% free lunch kids are certainly not), that I haven’t experienced the discrimination or challenges that they will probably experience in life.

People talk about how we live in a post-racial society, especially now that Barack Obama is president. That’s bullshit. We went to Philly last week to visit my sister, and one of the things we did while there was to go to a Philadelphia Orchestra concert at the Mann Center. My sister lives in Center City and we took a bus to the Mann Center – it went through a Black neighborhood to get there (I don't know Philly well enough to know where, exactly, and, oh, the difference in the homes and the wealth level. Peeling paint, broken gates and fences, weeds growing out of cracks in the sidewalk. It’s heartbreaking, and it’s no different for my kids.

I talk to them about that occasionally, that it's unfair that the people in power mostly look like me. It’s not something I’d bring up to a whole class necessarily (though I might, if a reason arose), but I’ve had a few individual conversations, particularly with my young Latino men who are teetering on the brink of gang involvement. So I talk to them about the inequity, and how it makes me really sad to see kids like them, who are smart, funny, powerful, choose this path that leads only to death or jail, when right now they have so many options and the potential to change the balance of power in society. A few times when I’ve told colleagues about those conversations, they chew on the insides of their cheeks and look at me with deep concern, asking if I have the right to have those conversations.

Do I have the right? I don’t know. I think I do, I think I have a moral responsibility to do it, but maybe I’m just another White teacher trying to save urban youth, in a really offensive way, and I just don’t know it. I can’t….I can’t quite believe that, but maybe it’s true.

As far as I know, I’ve never had trouble creating relationships with kids from different backgrounds than me. Almost all my faves – the Charmer, the Eyeliner Queen, DC, Smiley, Slick, the Chatterbox, Oh Yes, the Chowhound, the Goofball, BB Bob, the Slacker – are all Latino. The Natural Athlete and Miss Opinion are both White. I adore plenty of kids whom I haven’t written about too, of all races, but race has just never really felt like a huge issue in my classroom. Maybe that’s naïve. Maybe I’ve just been lucky, or blind. I do see that some of the White kids stick together at my school, and it makes me sad for them because it so limits their options for friends, and I’ve certainly heard kids make racist comments to each other (which get shut down immediately) but as far as I know, it hasn’t been a big deal in my own relationships with kids. But maybe I’m just not aware. Maybe I don’t see it because I come from a privileged White background.

Bleah. I don’t know. I just don’t know.

One of Jose’s commenters, Lucky Star, wrote, “If you are an educator who is not a person of color who teachers primarily Black and Latino students, you should have no worries because, at the end of the day, our children so desperately need good, quality educators of all backgrounds. They need educators who care about them, their lives, their successes and their failures. THEY NEED ALL OF US.”

I hope that’s true. It’s what I believe.

Would my kids benefit from having a more representative population of teachers? Absolutely. No question. My school definitely needs to have more diversity in our staff...but I want to be there too.

This won't go anywhere good.

A week and a half before the year ended, the Charmer mentioned the Over Achiever during lunch one day. I have a picture of her on my bulletin board (she gave it to me; I put up pics of any kid who gives one to me) and he’d ragged on it before. That day, I’d added one of him and his friends from a writing workshop they’d done with me a few weeks before. I pointed it out to him.

“Yeah, but you have it right above hers. Which is, like, way closer than I want to get to her.” I ignored him. He went on, “And now she’s acting totally crazy. Like can’t even be in the same class as me because she’s too in love with me or whatever.”

That caught my attention. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, like she’s so in love with me that it hurts too much to be in the same room as me so she’s not coming to math and science anymore.”

I changed the subject, but I was perturbed.

That afternoon was our end-of-year staff party. One of my colleagues, Ms. Librarian, mentioned the Over Achiever and how she was helping out in the library for the rest of the year. “I heard about that,” I said. “So she can’t handle being in the same class as the Charmer? What’s the deal?”

Ms. Librarian shrugged. “I don’t know…I guess she’d been making excuses to leave school every day early, and finally admitted that it was because of what was going on with him.”

“What IS going on with him?”

“Apparently he’s been saying some really inappropriate things to her, telling secrets he learned about her last year like about her dad [her dad has a drug problem and has had major health issues this year; it’s been incredibly hard on the Over Achiever, understandably] and just not being very nice. So her teachers agreed she could spend the end of the year in the library with me.”

Without even getting into what a terrible message I think that’s sending to her, I didn’t like the sound of this. Because it sounded like everyone had decided that the Over Achiever was the innocent tulip who was being viciously destroyed by the cruel Charmer. I didn’t think it was so clear cut as that, but I also didn’t want him to get in trouble for this. We had a week left of school. He just had to get through without doing anything dumb.

The next morning I went to talk to his counselor to see if I could help in any way. I told her what I’d heard and asked if it was okay if I talked to him about this and tried to persuade him to stay away from her for the rest of the year. She said that’d be great, because there was more to the story. The Over Achiever had come to school in pajama pants the day before (against dress code, but she’s the kind of kid who gets away with that stuff). The Charmer had allegedly said to another kid, “Yeah, because she left her pants at my house last night.”

Yes. Because she left her pants at his house last night.

Seriously? In seventh grade, who says stuff like that? With that added to the situation, I knew it was a matter of time before he got suspended, something I wanted to avoid if possible. So I went to pull him from his first hour class (they had a sub and I had permission from the counselor to try). He wasn’t there. Didn’t come to school that day or the next. When he showed again on the second-to-last day of school, he and I talked. He flat out denied having said that; he claimed he’d made a comment about her pants, just something about how they looked dumb, but he asked why he’d say what the Over Achiever had claimed, because that would be a compliment to her, like saying he’d want to have sex with her. And as horrific as that statement was, I could see his point. She’d been pursuing him and he’d been turning her down all year – why would he suddenly start acting like he wanted to be with her again, even in an insulting way? The logic was gross, but valid.

I got him to promise that he’d stay away from her, and that he’d try to stay out of trouble for the last two days. I thought he would, too. Then I heard about the last day of school.

On the last day of school, the Charmer really went above and beyond to be a delight. He walked over to a kid lying on the ground during a kickball game and asked the group at large if he should teabag the kid. During the same game, when a girl missed a pop fly, he said that was weird because she was used to having balls fly at her face. Then, finally, at the end of the game…he left. School. Just left.

My kids fall apart before vacations pretty frequently. School’s a safe place, with rules and consistency and expectations. Home’s not, for some of them. Parents aren’t around, or if they are, they’re not always that stable themselves. Food is sporadic. Kids have nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to talk to. So they start acting out right before they’re going to be on their own for a while. I can only assume that’s what the Charmer was doing. I can only hope that’s what was going on. Because if that’s not it, if there’s more to it than a simple and temporary change in circumstances, then I’m terrified about what’s going on with him. This won’t go anywhere good, and I don’t know how to help.


(Photo credit to Nesster, http://www.flickr.com/photos/nesster/3168425434/)

"I just don't want to be here!"

A while ago I posted about why I thought the Charmer didn’t want to come back to my school next year. I hypothesized that it was because of money – because he lives a ways from school and didn’t have the money for the bus all the time.

Yeah. Not so much.

A few days later, the Charmer and his friends were in my room again. Towards the end of the period, I asked his friends to leave because I needed to talk the Charmer. I had a whole speech prepared about how the money thing was an issue but not insurmountable, how I could have gotten him to school, how he needed to ask for help when he needed it. Never got to use it. Which is a shame, because it was a totally good speech too.

I started with, “So what happened the other day?”

He shrugged. “I was sick.”

I looked at him skeptically. “It wasn’t because you didn’t have a bus pass?”

“No.”

“You know, this doesn’t work. This isn’t going to fly next year – you have to figure out a way to get to school.”

“Well then it won’t be an issue since I’m not going here and my new school is like 10 feet from my house.”

“But if you want to go here--”

“I don’t want to go here! I keep telling you that!”

“I know, but you won’t tell me WHY. So WHY don’t you want to go here? If it’s the bus pass--” (And this was my opening, I thought. This was when I was going to masterfully turn the conversation so that I could give my helpful little rah-rah-rah we-shall-overcome speech. Shows how much I know.)

“It’s not the stupid bus pass! I don’t want to go here because I hate it here! Because the teachers suck and the administration sucks and I just don’t want to be here!” He was almost yelling.

I sat. I looked at him. I couldn’t believe it. “Oh. Okay.”

He looked down. “I’m sorry. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d be mad.”

“I’m not mad…I’m just sad.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m really not. I’m not mad. I’m sad that you feel that way, because…well, because I teach here and I like it here and I think we have good teachers, and it makes me sad that you don’t feel that way.”

“It’s not you. You don’t suck.”

“I know. But thanks.” We sat in silence for a moment. Finally, I asked, “Why do you think the teachers and administration suck?”

He rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. These are my colleagues and I respect them and think they are good teachers. But it doesn’t actually matter what I think; it matters what you think. And if you think they’re bad, I want to know why. So why?”

He sighed. Then he told me. Stories of a teacher who doesn’t teach much because she’s burned out and the kids know it; instead of teaching, this teacher tells them stories. Then eventually they have an assessment, and they all get Cs on it because they haven’t done any practice for it. Stories of a teacher who treats different students differently, VERY differently, and again the kids know it. Stories of a teacher who ignores commitments she’s made to students, commitments about grades and work and credit, and instead fails the students that she doesn’t like to teach them a lesson. Stories of administrators who, instead of correcting students for mistakes, humiliate them in front of their peers by making them redo the mistakes repeatedly.

The bell rang before he finished. I sent him to his next class, because there was nothing else to do. But I thought about it a lot.

Everything he told me, I’d seen at points. But I thought…I guess I thought that I’d seen these things as aberrations with these teachers, as minor occasional issues that were surpassed by the strong teaching they do the rest of the time. And maybe for some kids they are, but not for the Charmer. And maybe not for more of them. I started asking other kids what they thought about their teachers and their education; not many, just a few that I knew well and trusted and who trust me, and some of the stories…too many of the stories…were the same. Some weren’t, and that’s good. But.

Once I’d heard his perspective, I couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave, and I couldn’t try to persuade him to stay anymore. Even if the tales he told were exceptions rather than the rule for most kids (which I pray they are), those made up his story at my school. And that’s a story I couldn’t try to keep going.

To be continued.


(I'm trying out adding pictures to make my blog more interesting for visual types. So? You like it? Photo credit to Philippe Leroyer, http://www.flickr.com/photos/philippeleroyer/2070899672/)